


Snap the Band

by TheOCDDI (TooHotchInTheHottub)



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Grief, Joe is an idiot, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Spanking, bad ways of coping, so is Kent, so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 18:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3144542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooHotchInTheHottub/pseuds/TheOCDDI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post series 3.<br/>An explanation of future events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (or, how Joseph Chandler broke the heart of Emerson Kent.)
> 
> So, I suppose that I should start by explaining myself. I have a theory. (A dangerous thing, I know.) It is simply this: sometime, between the end of series three and the beginning of series four, Chandler and Kent totally slept together.  
> It was amazing, and misguided and exactly what Kent had always wanted and Chandler FREAKED OUT. 
> 
> After that he refused to be alone with Kent, stopped giving the DC the positive feedback that felt a little too much like flirting, and is trying desperately to forget.Kent, meanwhile, feels totally rejected- hence his literal change in how he sees himself and his pathological hatred of other people’s happiness. (Why he is so afraid that his sister will get her heart broken, because goddamn it, it just happened to him.)
> 
> And it totally explains the incredibly incriminating and nervous “No. What? What have you heard?” when Chandler thinks Miles is trying to get him to hook up with Kent at Buchan’s book launch. (I can also explain why his hand reached for the rubber band at his wrist and he muttered “I’m not interested.” – my explanation also has **SPOILER ALERT** nothing to do with bloody Morgan bloody Lamb.)

Joseph Chandler sat in the dark; he didn’t need light for introspection. 

He kept seeing her there on the floor, the jagged shard pinning her to the linoleum as though she were a specimen in a lunatic’s collection. The madwoman screamed in the corner, but Joe never heard her. 

He didn’t hear anything. 

He didn’t hear Miles, or the other officers. 

He only saw. 

He saw her there, at his feet. Dead and gone, yet within arm’s reach. He saw Kent too, the pallor of his skin highlighted by his dark curls and his wide, black eyes. 

Joe ran a hand over his face at the memory, and took a swig of vodka, only to find the bottle empty. Joe put it down heavily on the table and sat back against the soft leather of his lounge. He finally, a mere three hours after getting home from work, loosened his tie. He shucked it off, flicked open the top button of his shirt and wound the length of silk around his hand and made a fist, enjoying the slight burn to the skin where it was too tight. He flexed his hand open and closed a few times. Soon, he found that his eyes were drooping shut, and his breath was slowing and evening out, but the parade of images behind his eyelids continued unabated. 

_Morgan dead. Kent horrified. Her eyes unseeing. Kent’s filling with tears. Their almost-identical pale skin. The untidy lines of her police-issued jumpsuit. The straight strength of Kent’s fine trousers and suit jacket. The way his hips looked narrow beneath the tailoring…_

Joe refused to ponder anymore. He had noticed Kent, had felt certain… urges, since before he was handed a box of chalk and offered a quiet ‘Kent’. But he hadn’t let it come to anything. He couldn’t let it come to anything. 

Then Morgan had come along, and Joe thought he might be saved. From his demons, from his past… from his desires. He had let her kiss him. Perhaps he could be normal. The kind of normal his father would have approved of. Functioning and loved, with kids and a pet dog and a mother-in-law that he slightly hated. But that all went away. Just as he opened himself up for it, it had been snatched from him. 

Joe didn’t blame Kent. It wasn’t his fault. None of it. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But, at the same time, Joe didn’t think that he would ever be able to forgive the dark-haired DC, either. 

Not for his mistakes, and certainly not for the way he would reverently breathe out ‘Sir’ or look hopefully for approval. Not for the way that he made Joe feel. 

Not for the loyalty and the misguided bravery. 

Joe couldn’t forgive him for any of it. 

Not for his resilience in the face of the striping and accusations of corruption. 

Joe couldn’t forgive him for any of those things because he feared that, not too far below the surface, it was these things that made him love Emerson Kent. 

And damnit, if that half-formed thought didn’t make him want to crawl into a bottle for the rest of his life, nothing would. 

Just as Joe considered wandering down to the nearest off-license to buy more vodka, his doorbell went. 

Joe was confused, it was somewhere between ten o’clock and midnight - he couldn’t quite seem to keep track anymore. He stood, and kicked his shin on the coffee table as he went, making the bottle fall to the floor. He picked it up, but replaced it on the wood rather than in the bin, when a second, more insistent bell sounded. He got to the door and pulled it open. 

Kent stood before him, looking determined and faintly ill. 

“Kent.” 

“Sir.” His voice was relatively firm, even if his eyes couldn’t quite make their way to Joe’s face. Kent’s gaze sat somewhere around the open neck of his shirt. 

“What do you want, Kent,’ he asked as he checked his watch, ‘It’s almost eleven.” 

“I just… I couldn’t.” Kent struggled with his words, each forcing its way out of his throat with painful determination. 

“Should I request a transfer, Sir?” The syllables tumbled out at about the same time that Kent’s eyes met Joe’s. 

“Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere more appropriate than the corridor.” Joe said, meaning to add _Perhaps tomorrow at work._

Instead he said, “Won’t you come in?” and stepped aside. 

Kent looked surprised, but stepped inside anyway. Joe closed the door and flicked on the lights. 

“Were you sitting here in the dark, Sir?” 

In lieu of an answer, Joe slid past Kent and went into the kitchen, hoping the short pause would help him catch his breath. 

It didn’t. 

Even as Kent tentatively rounded the corner, Joe felt the tempest of emotions kick up again, whipping around his chest mercilessly. 

“Tea?” he asked, more to give himself an excuse to turn his back, and something to do with his hands that wasn’t continuously washing them under scalding hot water, than to observe courtesy. 

“Please.” Kent sounded lost. 

“I only have green, I’m afraid.” 

Kent might have hummed in response, he might not have. Chandler kept his attention on his work rather than on the man stood in his kitchen. 

When the tea was ready, Chandler took his and walked into the lounge, leaving Kent to get his own and follow. It wasn’t until too late that Joe remembered the empty vodka bottle on the table. It sat between them, like an accusation, as Joe sipped his tea. 

“No.” Joe finally announced to the room. 

“Sir?” 

“No. I don’t want you to transfer out of the team, Kent.” 

When Joe’s sentence was met with nothing but silence, he risked a look at his DC. Kent sat hunched, still in his coat, staring into his untouched drink. He looked as though he thought it might provide some kind of answer. 

Better answers than Joe, anyway. 

“Look, I know it’s been…I’ve been difficult lately.” Joe put his mug down on a coaster and lined the handle up with the edge of the polished wood. 

Kent’s eyes slid sideways, taking a quick look at the empty bottle, before snapping back to his tea. He didn’t offer any other reply. 

“I don’t blame you, Kent.” 

Something doubtful flitted across Kent’s features, before he scrubbed a hand over his face, obliterating the moisture that seemed to come from nowhere. 

The clock kept time in the ensuing silence. Chandler was just about to give in to the urge to count the ticks when Kent spoke again. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“Kent – ” 

“You might not mean to, but you do. I can’t fault you for it, I blame myself.” Kent shed the pretence of the tea then, putting the cup on its own coaster before nudging the handle to sit parallel to the edge. Another simple, thoughtful, unconscious act to put Joe at ease. 

“I… I don’t mean… I’m off-centre lately, Kent.” 

“Who isn’t?” Joe nodded. Kent’s hair was damp, _It must be raining outside_ , Joe mused. 

“I’m sorry.” He said. 

Kent looked surprised by the apology. 

“I didn’t want to…I never wanted to hurt you, Kent.” Joe didn’t know what to do to remove the look of cynicism from Kent’s features. 

“You haven’t spoken directly to me for three days, Sir. Before that it’s been only to give me short, clipped instructions. I’ve been reporting to Skip, because you…” Kent ran out of steam, his voice suddenly dropping away to nothing. It was like he had the wind knocked out of him. 

“What?” Joe whispered, afraid to hear the rest, but desperate to know. 

“You look straight through me. Your … It feels like a winter breeze. It goes right to my bones. It’s cold and…” 

“And?” Joe prodded. 

“Please, Joe. Don’t make me say it. You must know by now. I don’t expect you to do anything about it, but you must know.” 

Joe was taken aback by Kent’s sudden candour, and the use of his first name. He stared, dumbfounded, at Kent. 

“I know we don’t talk about it, like it’s some unspoken rule. I know that it would make you uncomfortable to… Well, I know it would make you uncomfortable, but surely you can imagine what it’s like for me. I never had hope before, I never deluded myself that you would reciprocate… but at least I used to have you.” Kent had levelled his gaze to Joe’s face. 

It was all out in the open now, and Joe didn’t know what to do about it. He wondered if he could just ignore it, perhaps it could scab over again. Perhaps if they stopped picking at it, things could approach normalcy. 

While Joe’s conscious mind searched for a way back from the brink, his unconscious mind jumped. 

Before he really knew what had happened, he found that he had Kent’s face in his hands, and that he was kissing the younger man as though his life depended on it. 

Kent, after the initial shock, responded enthusiastically. 

“Kent…” He breathed into the other man’s mouth. 

“Joe?” 

“I… I never mentioned it because… How could the subject be broached without me doing this? How could I ponder the whatever-it-is that we have without tasting you? Without having you? God, Emerson. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you talking to Mary Bousfield. I’ve imagined what you’d taste like since you crossed the room to hand me chalk. Since the first time you wore a suit to the office, I’ve wanted to peel it off you, piece by piece.” 

Emerson’s pupils were blown wide, his mouth beginning to look puffy. His expression lingered somewhere between shock and triumph. 

“Why didn’t you, Joe?” 

“I’m your DI. I can’t.” He clarified as he nipped at Kent’s earlobe. He began slipping Kent’s coat off his shoulders. Kent let him. 

“I don’t want to do something we’ll both regret.” Joe murmured into Kent’s collar bone as he unfastened his shirt buttons. 

“We can’t stop, Joe.” Kent countered, his own fingers skipping over the front of Joe’s shirt, a line of exposed flesh was left in its wake, as the soft cotton opened. 

“We have to stop. This…” Joe’s fingers caressed the sensitive skin around Kent’s left nipple, causing a shudder to rip through the other man. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Joseph Chandler.” 

“I’ll end up hurting you, Emerson.” 

“You’ve already hurt me, Joe.” 

“Please.” Joe begged, unsure exactly what he was asking for. 

“Take me to bed, Joe. Even if it’s just once. I’ll never regret you. I couldn’t.” 

“What if I regret you?” Joe asked, his lips now venturing back up Kent’s neck as he discarded the shirt he had undone. 

“Then tomorrow will be the same as it was today.” 

Joe tried not to let the statement hit its target, but he failed - and he knew that it might be the most truthful thing either of them had said so far. 

He knew that there was a very real chance that he would regret this in the morning, but the feelings he had kept so controlled had finally burst through. 

Joe kissed Kent, hard and insistently, his teeth gnashing as he fought his own internal battles. Finally, with a heavy heart, and a heavier burning in his belly, he stood, and led Kent to the bedroom.


	2. Break the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of Snap the Band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long. I was in the middle of nowhere.

The bedroom was dark, illuminated only by the shard of light that filtered through the doorway. It took a few seconds for Kent’s eyes to adjust. Before they did, he could feel everything more clearly, as though his nerve endings were picking up the slack.

The faint light caught the hairs at the bottom of Joe’s neck, they shone bright white. Kent reached out and brushed at them with gentle fingertips.

Joe sat on the bed, his hands firmly on Kent’s hips, steering him to stand in front of Joe. Joe leaned forward and kissed Kent’s stomach, biting gently at the flesh beside his belly button. Kent’s hands grasped Joe’s hair in retaliation. Joe slowly undid Kent’s trousers, allowing them to fall to the floor. Kent stepped out of them, toeing his shoes and socks off as he went.

Watching, Joe leaned back and undid his own fly and shed his own shoes and socks, but didn’t make any further move to disrobe.

With no words, Joe pulled Kent onto the bed, positioning the younger man over his lap. Joe rested his right hand across Kent’s shoulder blades, it was gentle and commanding at once. With his left, Joe pulled the grey cotton boxers down until just the rounded curve of Kent’s buttocks were visible.

Joe flexed his right hand minutely as he raised his left. When the palm made contact with the soft flesh, Kent’s exhalation was loud and fast. Without pause, Joe raised his hand again and brought it down. Joe tried, and failed, not to count the blows he rained down on Kent’s reddening buttocks.

_Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…_

Kent’s loud breathing had turned into a frantic kind of begging, small noises of pleasure and words like ‘yes’ and ‘please’ spilled from his lips.

_…Twenty-seven, twenty- eight, twenty-nine…_

Kent’s hips had started rocking, the younger man searching in vain for more friction.

_…Thirty-two…_

“Joe.” The name tripped off Kent’s tongue and stayed Joe’s hand. Joe sat, seemingly lost for what to do next.

“Joe, you’re not nearly naked enough.” He looked over his shoulder, still stretched over Joe’s lap.

“No. Not yet.”

“I want to see you, Joe. I want to feel your skin on mine.”

“Say please.” Joe’s hand came to rest possessively on Kent’s tender arse.

“What if I don’t?” He wiggled playfully in his DI’s lap. Joe responded by reaching his right hand up into Kent’s dark curls. As Kent leaned into the contact, Joe grasped the hair and tugged roughly.

“I said, say please, Kent.”

“Please… Sir.” Joe almost purred, he liked that - asking for power, wielding it. Kent gave it so willingly, so sweetly.

“You undress me.” Kent scrambled off the bed, almost falling to the floor in his haste. Joe stood slowly, with as much dignity as a man in his state could, his trousers undone, his shirt open and every fibre of his body crying out for Kent.

Kent started with Joe’s shirt, undoing Joe’s cuffs and pushing it off his shoulders. He stood and slowly folded the discarded garment. Joe watched, transfixed, his eyes glued to the slow, familiar ritual. Kent put the shirt on a nearby chair and turned back to Joe.

He pulled Joe’s trousers down, kneeling as he did so. Kent came to rest with his still-exposed buttocks on his heels. He stayed there to fold the trousers. He looked up at Joe while he busied himself, he looked like a man who couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He ran timid hands up Joe’s shins.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Kent.”

“Sir.” His hands reached for the waistband of Joe’s boxers. Kent took to this task with the competence and diligence that he brought to everything.

As Joe’s cock sprung, erect and darkening from the soft cotton underwear, Kent licked his lips.

“Take off your pants. Get on the bed. Lie on your back.” Kent’s haste made Joe’s mouth twitch in small amusement.

“Look at you, Kent. So beautiful. You’ll do anything I tell you, won’t you?”

“Yes. Sir.”

“Why would you give me so much control?”

“Because you need me to.” Joe let the truth sink into the silence. Kent’s gaze was frank and open. Joe caught his breath.

“I want you to touch yourself, Kent. Like you do when you’re by yourself, thinking of me.”

Kent’s hand was firm, his pace languid, as he began with gusto. His eyes fixed on Joe’s, they were liquid and dark.

“Isn’t this better than usual?”

Kent hummed in agreement.

“Do you like hearing my voice? Do you like laying your head on my pillow? Having my scent surround you?”

“Mmm… Yes.”

Kent’s eyes slid shut, his hand moved a little faster. Joe listened to the rising pace of Kent’s breathing, heard the exertion as Kent got closer and closer.

“Open your eyes, Kent.” Kent did, his pupils like tar.

“I can’t wait for you to put those hands on me. “ Kent’s back arched and he made a noise in the back of his throat. He was close.

“Stop. I don’t want you to finish yet.” Kent stopped immediately, letting his hand rest on his thigh.

“That’s good, Kent. That’s good.” Joe’s voice was getting rockier.

“I want to reward you.”

“Sir.” Joe climbed onto the bed, and rested his back on the headboard. He patted his lap.

“Come on, I won’t bite.”

Kent settled into Joe’s lap, their chests pressed together.

“That’s a shame, I like it when you do that.” Kent smiled and kissed into Joe’s mouth. The kiss turned into a fight for supremacy, Kent ended it by nipping Joe’s lip. The bite was hard. Joe pulled on Kent’s hair again and growled out his annoyance while he licked the sore spot. Joe savaged Kent’s neck, the younger man mewled when Joe’s other hand began to pluck at his nipples.

“Please. Joe.”

“The top drawer.” Joe murmured into Kent’s neck.

Kent all but threw himself at the drawer, manoeuvring with difficulty while Joe focused his relentless and punishing attentions on Kent’s neck. Kent finally extracted a small foil packet and a tube of lubricant.

“I’m going to-“ Joe’s hands scrabbled in search of the tube.

“Yes. Joe. Please.” Kent pushed it into Joe’s hand.

“Stay there. I want to see you.”

Joe opened the tube and coated his fingers. Kent kissed him in response, lifting himself up just enough to give Joe’s hand an opportunity to slip beneath him. His cock brushed against Joe’s muscular stomach, the kiss continued and Kent felt a finger enter him. Joe opened his eyes as he felt the velvet warmth of Kent envelope his finger.

The young man was so responsive, physically and verbally, and Joe felt as though he was on fire. The lean musculature that was pushed up against him, the wall of hot flesh at his front juxtaposed with the firm, cool wood at his back. He could feel Kent’s heartbeat flutter, could see it keep rhythm in his neck. Joe pulled away from the kiss and added another finger, eagerly waiting to see Kent’s reaction. The younger man dropped his head back, exposing the long column of his neck.

“Oh. Joe.”

Joe scissored his fingers, feeling Kent stretch slowly, feeling the lithe body get ready to take him. Joe tried not to rush, wanted to savour this, but he was impatient to feel the man above him. Joe licked a stripe over Kent’s adam’s apple, watching it bob in response, watching the rise of gooseflesh when he breathed over the same spot seconds later. Kent moaned.

“I’m ready Joe. “ Kent whimpered. He opened the foil packet that he had kept clutched in his hand and moved enough to gain access to Joe’s firmness. Joe kept scissoring his fingers, smiling slightly as Kent faltered in his task.

“Cheeky.” Kent admonished.

Joe smirked, and brushed a finger over Kent’s prostate.

“Joseph Chandler, what am I going to do with you?”

Chandler removed his fingers and Kent lowered himself onto Joe. He moved slowly, teasing a shuddering breath out of Joe’s lungs. Kent was warm and tight, his arms coming to rest around Chandler’s shoulders, his erection pressed into Joe’s belly. There was a carefulness to Kent’s movements.

Deep down Joe knew that Kent was probably savouring this, spending as much time as possible cataloguing every feeling, every sound.

Kent thought this was all they would ever have.

Joe couldn’t really deny the possibility that Kent was right.

Joe’s anger at himself spilled over, he pulled Kent down onto himself as he thrust upwards. Kent was taken by surprise, but recovered quickly, driving his hips down to meet Joe’s movements. Joe wasn’t happy with the arrangement, he wanted to show Kent real power, and this position didn’t allow him to do that. Without really thinking about it, Joe tipped forward, Kent now lay with his back on the duvet, his legs snaking around Joe’s hips.

“Faster, Joe.”

Joe didn’t need to be asked twice. He pushed himself up on his left arm, straightening his elbow, his splayed hand resting beside Kent’s ear. Putting his weight on the wrist caused it to crack loudly. Both men ignored it because Joe’s other hand had wrapped around Kent’s leaking cock.

Kent was now letting out a tirade of half-words and deep, rumbling moans. Joe felt himself getting closer, and felt Kent’s own impending release. As spurts of Kent’s seed spread between them, the DC’s body tensed, pulling Joe over the precipice with him.

The room was nothing but two sets of ragged breath and no movement. The shaft of light still pierced the dark.

Joe’s control had fled, and he found himself at a loss for what to do next. Kent kissed him gently and took over.

“Come on. Let’s have a shower, and then we can change these sheets.”

In the bathroom Kent had taken charge. He disposed of the condom, ran the shower and washed Joe from head to toe with strong but reverent hands. Then he had washed himself, while Joe stood beside him, half in the spray.

“Wait here. I’ll change the sheets.” Kent had ordered.

Joe had wondered how Kent would know where the linen closet was, but then, he had seen the retreating back of the younger man. Kent’s arse was almost purple form the spanking Joe had given him. Joe became lost in his thoughts until Kent came back to get him, clad in his boxers.

“Will you stay?”

“If you want me to.”

They had fallen asleep, Joe cradling Kent in his arms, Joe’s nose buried in Kent’s damp hair. They didn’t say anything more, but Joe tried to hold Kent as tight as he could, fearing that the other man was gone already.

When he woke up alone he tried not to be surprised. He tried not to feel hollow. He tried not to listen for a sign that Kent had just gotten up for a minute, that he would be back. He tried not to hope.

When he walked into his kitchen to find the vodka bottle in the bin and two washed mugs in the dishrack he tried not to see the ending in it. He tried not to notice the letter on the counter top. The one in Kent’s idiosyncratic scrawl.

Joe,

I know this is probably the coward’s way out, but I can’t face you this morning. Last night was amazing, but in the stark light of morning, every second of that felt like fiery regret.

Joe that was, you are, everything I ever wanted. It was better than I ever could have hoped.

I don’t regret it. But I can’t bear to see that look on your face, the guarded blankness when you are sorry for your actions. I can’t survive the cold, clinical efficiency that you use as a buffer for your embarrassment. I refuse to.

So, I’ve left.

I snuck out while you slept peacefully in your bed.

You are so beautiful Joe Chandler.

Today can be the same as yesterday. I can bear it now. Knowing that, if only for a little while, I could pretend that you were mine.

I won’t talk about it. I will never mention last night, or this letter, again. I knew that was always going to be a one-time only deal.

Even while we were entwined, I felt like mourning, Goodbye Joe.

Em x

Joe read the letter through twice, the second time was made difficult by the tears welling in his eyes.

He felt all of the regret, hot and heavy in his chest. He clenched his teeth together as he balled the letter up in his fist.

He wished he wasn’t like this.

Wished that it could be different.

He wished that he could have fooled Kent, made him believe that they could have had a future - if only just for a few minutes.

Maybe then he could have believed it himself. But Joe knew he was damaged goods.

Kent didn’t need Joe’s special brand of high-maintenance eccentricity. So, Joe built up his barricades again, anaesthetising himself with little rituals, wrapping himself up in expensive tailoring, and headed for the station.

WWWWW

Ed’s book launch had been on the calendar for a week. Joe didn’t really want to go, but felt duty bound. When he saw that he had overdressed for the occasion, he had tried to bow out discreetly.

No such luck with Miles around.

“I’ll have a wine please, waiter.” He said, as though Joe was a particularly timid animal.

"I thought it was black tie…”

Miles was teasing him, he was overdressed and begrudgingly in a room full of strangers. There was finger food and the low murmur of conversation. All things he could handle. He had started to feel normal in those few minutes. Normal for him, anyway. It was the first time since he had slept with Kent that he felt that he might be able to move on. To stop thinking about how much he wanted it again. To think about how unfair it would be to impose himself on the younger man’s life.

Until Miles shattered the illusion.

“You might want to try over there.”

Kent was standing across the room, talking to a dark-haired woman. He looked at ease, if a little annoyed. His trousers clung to his hips where Joe’s own hands had rested. Joe spluttered some stream of nonsense, and Miles said that she was Kent’s twin.

Joe reflexively reached for the band on his wrist. He didn’t snap the band. The sound would only serve to remind him of his hand slapping against Kent’s reddening arse. The small welt would recall the colour of those rounded buttocks.

“I’m not interested.” He muttered, wishing it as true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment?

**Author's Note:**

> The explicit rating is for the next chapter, which will be posted as soon as I have access to internet again (ah, to be a rural Australian...)  
> Will probably be next week sometime.
> 
> Also, I am considering writing an epic sort of series 5. Any feedback (or encouragement) might help.  
> *hint*


End file.
